Hitman: Stirrings
by craigbond007
Summary: He is a class 1 human clone engineered to kill for cash. But what happens when he's sent to kill his only friend?


At the dawn of the 21st century, nobody would have thought that human cloning would be possible.

But it has been said that a man walks this earth, with the power to strike down evil, wherever it may hide.

A man who is known only as an urban legend.

His name is only a whisper on the lips of the dead.

Only his employers know him, by his only name, 47. And they trust him as he trusts them

47 kills without mercy, without morality, without question.

But only for a price….

Anything between 47 and his target goes down.

47 is a class one cloned human being.

Engineered from darkness.

Protected by divinity.

Bred from the world's deadliest criminals.

Skilled in the art of killing, in any form of weapon.

Hidden by the veil of disguise.

Brilliant in his execution.

But what happens when a 47 is sent to kill his only friend?

HITMAN 

STIRRINGS

PT I…………………….. The Contract…. Signed In Blood

47 turned on his laptop. He was expecting an e-mail from his handler in the agency,

Diana. She always gave him a briefing for his next hit.

It was there, as usual. But today this wasn't just an ordinary assassination.

"Hello, Agent 47," it read. "We have yet another important assignment for you to carry out.

I can't help but think you'll be shocked. Your target is your old friend, Father Vittorio.

He's still running the old Gontranno Sanctuary in Sicily. I'm sorry to have to tell you this,

but he knows too much about you."

47 then mulled over the minor details, as if he needed them. He knew his way around the

sanctuary, being a gardener there once.

All the assassin needed was the price: $ 500,000, already transferred to his account.

But sometimes money can't soothe the unfamiliar pain 47 is feeling.

"Kill the padre?" His conscience thought. "Yes," his killer instinct answered.

"But he's you're friend!" Conscience pleaded.

"So stop me… it's my job…"

"We'll see about that…"

PT II Death at Gontranno

47 walked up the steps of the all too familiar sanctuary, looking for his long lost friend,

soon to be dead. Back when 47 was living here, he went by the alias "Tobias Rieper,"

so, it wouldn't be a surprise if the padre referred to him as such. The hitman walked

through the aisle in the church, down toward the confessional, where the padre was

finishing listening to a man confess his sins. 47 then entered the booth.

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned."

"Tobias, my son! I knew it was you! What brings you back to the sanctuary?"

"Padre, I'm… thinking of working here again... Can we talk somewhere private?"

"Of course, my son. As soon as I'm finished here, meet in the old garden shed."

"I'll be waiting there, padre."

PT III Bulletway to Heaven

47 was sitting on his old bed in the garden shed. He remembered all his nightmares and

dreams he had on this bed. He sat and sat, but remembered that his gun was empty. He

took the chrome AMT Hardballer pistol, pulled the slide back, and loaded a lone .45 bullet

into it's chamber. He then screwed it's cylinder shaped silencer into place.

"So this is how a friendship ends…." He thought.

His conscience was still there to bug him. "You don't have to do this!"

"Yes I do. This is just a hit, money already paid, I'm not gonna screw this one up."

"You can quit and live here forever!"

"Shut up!"

A knock at the door cut off the hitman's thoughts. It was Father Vittorio.

"Come in, padre," 47 said.

"Hello, my son! So, you want to care for my garden again at last?" Vittorio asked.

"Not exactly," 47 said. He got up, threw Vittorio to the floor, and locked the door, with his

silenced Hardballer trained at the priest's head.

"Forgive me, father, for I must sin once again to keep my sins a secret!" 47 prayed.

"No!" Vittorio screamed. A short, sharp pop emitted from the end of the silver cylinder,

giving the padre another eye, one between his real eyes, but it was a black abyss, leaking

red tears in a final cry.

47 left the church and checked into the nearest hotel. He sat on the bed and pulled out

his cell phone, dialing the agency.

"The job's been done," he said, and hung up.

He rubbed his eyes, and his fingers were wet. He knew well what this was, for most people

he killed had done the same thing, usually from fear.

Or sadness.

For the first time, 47 had shed tears…


End file.
